


Captain's musings

by HardiganCaptain



Category: Bronson (2008)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardiganCaptain/pseuds/HardiganCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New job at the prison as the art staff after Paul left. Poor girl gets a bit more than she bargained for</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

After spending three hours with the Warden, her ears felt like they were bleeding. There was a list of do’s and don’t’s three miles long, which she’d expected, but then there were a few special cases…

“Now, Charlie is a special case, a bit of a celebrity-“

“Wait, wait, you have Charles Bronson. Here?! I thought he died in ‘o3…”

“No, no, no, I meant Michael Peterson.” the Warden removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Decent enough fellow, I suppose, but he’s very self destructive. Takes hostages with no real plan behind it, starts fights with the guards that he knows he can’t possibly win. But he was calmer when he was crafting, at least for a while.”

“… Okay, so what are we talking about here? Are you saying I leave him chained to the table while he doodles..” she laughed at the absurdity of the thought only to slowly stop, staring at him almost horrified, “That’s not what you mean, right?”

“What part of hostage taking, did you not understand? Here,” tugging a folder from the stack he tossed it to her side of the desk, his fingers absently pushing the his glasses back onto his nose. ”There’s the list of ‘hostages’ he’s taken in the last two years, one of which is your predecessor.”

“Ah,” she glanced over the names and what had happened to them, “Well it’s not like he’s actively hurt them or anything. Well Phil had a broken wrist by that seems to have been more accidental.”

“You are not to sympathize with him, you are not to befriend him. If you are unable to keep a professional distance we will find someone else.”

“Professional distance, got you.” flicking through the file she almost couldn’t fight the grin trying to spread across her face after finding a photo of how they’d found Phil. She’d always thought he was kind of a prat really. “Suppose Phil got too close?”

“Yes,” the word was drawled out, his fingers shuffling and organizing papers, “Here’s hoping you don’t disappoint.”

Walking down the stairs she stared at the art that littered the wall at the foot of the stairs. Leaning over the counter to get a closer look, her brow furrowed at the more prominent displays. They weren’t horrible but they were definitely odd.

“Pajaros.”

“Wha-” she turned to find a solidly built man standing behind her.

She couldn’t see his eyes through the round dark glasses, and his face was blank, but the cuffs attached to his waist was the give away.

“Birds, I like birds. Don’t see much else through bars but they’re nice.”

“Oh, okay.” her gaze flicked to the guards on either side of him, her lips curling into an almost nervous smile. “It’s different.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Well it’s just, I dunno, it’s not bad but it’s not particularly good either.” she shrugged her shoulders turning to look at the pictures again. “They’re just very different…”

The soft jingle of chains, and a low grunt made the hairs raise on the back of her neck. It wasn’t until she heard the scratch of coloured pencils on paper that she turned around. Massive shoulders were hunched over the desk, the muscles in his back shifting as he tried to work around the chains. 

Five weeks later she understood why Phil had started to like him, he was charming in his own way. Clever little jokes, and that smile could literally break her heart if she’d let it.

“The thing’s you draw from your imagination… It’s just fucking mind blowing. Like it looks so awkward but I can’t help but like it.” Her hand reached over his shoulder to take the paper, the tips trailing over the smooth wax. “I thought the things in my head were odd.”

“What you think about, then?” he lifted an eyebrow and turned to look at her, a colourful spattering of bruises on his cheeks and darkening his eye.

“Loads of things,” inhaling deeply through her nose, she jumped when she realized his face was so close to her own. “Just, erm, things.”

“Like…”

“I’m dark like you're twisted, your art I mean.” she pulled back, when his lips curled in a grin. “The stuff you draw is more an odd take on reality, I prefer the darker things like dealing in death and blood and-“

Her cheeks heated when he made a soft sound, not sure if it was a bid for her to shut up or just to make it seem like he was listening. Turning on her heel she moved to look over someone else’s work, Charlie’s gaze burning into her shoulders. Ten minutes later as the other inmates shuffled out, she started picking up what they’d forgotten.

“That why you work in a prison? You like rubbin’ shoulders with the inmates?”

Startled she turned to stare at him, hating the fact she covered her chest with her hand as her heart threatened to pound right through. The smirk just visible under his moustache made her scowl, lowering her hand to rest on the counter behind her.

“No. it’s just a job.” staring at the still closed doors at the head of the stairs, she stared confused wondering why the guards hadn’t come to bring him back to his cell. “You can rub shoulders with darker people at church if you choose the right one.”

“Ain’t religious then?”

“No.”

“Well where do you think you’re gonna go when you die, then?” he shifted on the bench turning to face her as best he could, his upper arms bulging as he pulled against the constraints.

“I don’t know.” picking up a handful of brushes she went to move past him, freezing when his hand shot out to grab her wrist.

His other arm was pulled back at an awkward angle, the shoulder bulging oddly as he twisted to hold her still. Swallowing thickly, she fought against the urge to try and yank loose. Inhaling slowly, she tiltled her head slightly, staring down at him coldly only to find him laughing.

“That snooty look don’t mean much, pet. You’ve had your eyes on me for days now. Been needing to visit nursey for a bit of aloe after workin’ on my pictures.” he tugged on her wrist, yanking her closer as he grinned up at her. “Been burnin holes in my clothes, shouldn’t you done somethin’ bout it by now?”

She smiled, though there was no actual humor in it, the pain in her wrist going from a dull ache to a steady throb. Twisting out of his grip, she only made it a step before one of his fingers curled in a belt loop and dragged her back. 

“That a no, pet?”

“I’m not your pet,” she snapped, trying to unhook his finger from her jeans, digging her nails into the flesh as she pulled. “If you think that I’m just going to sit in your lap and have someone come in, you’re mental. I’m not losing my job for what only has the vague possibilities of being any good.”

“What are you tryin- Think I don’t know my business?”

“You’ve been locked up how long? Darlin’ by this point you’re probably a two stroke Honda…”

The sudden laughter made her jump, eyes flying up from where she’d been concentrating on trying to get loose. The broad mouthed laughter quit just as quickly, the merry expression melting away to a dark look that made her breath catch. She forgot what she was doing, her fingers going slack as she stared back, blood rushing up her throat, a soft whimper escaping her.

“Alright, maybe three strokes.”

“Sit.” his cheeks dimpled slightly as he smiled, staring up at her through his lashes using his hold on her belt loop to twist her side to side.

“No, I’m not losing my job.” 

“Just slip beneath my arm here, sit on my lap for a minute. I’ve got a few questions bout my pictures.” Shaking her head to clear it, she continued trying to twist his finger loose. “I’ve seen your scrawlin’s on the counter, they’re good, wanna add a bit of that to mine.”

“Let go of me.”

“Bronson!” His head turned slowly to stare up at the Warden’s silhouette, his finger sliding loose, the skin mottled. 

“What?”

“To your cell, Bronson. Quietly now, and I’ll try to forget your lapse in manners.”

After he’d left she avoided looking at the Warden, shuffling the papers that were scattered across the table. She could feel the condemnation in his gaze, and it made her temper prickle.

“We talked about this, Ms.-“

“We did, and nothing happened.”

“It didn’t look like nothing, from where I was standing it looked like quite a lot more. Don’t let your feminine wants ruin this for you, no man is worth that.”  
She wanted nothing more than to slap the cool collected bastard across the face, but she somehow refrained. Instead, she smiled at him, nodding her understanding as he watched her for a moment before walking away.

“Of all the-” snarling under her breath she tossed the papers into a pile and combed her fingers through her hair until she could take a breath without wanting to scream.

The door slamming open made her shriek, fingers stilling as she stared at the the broad shape filling the doorway. When it slowly walked down the steps towards her she couldn’t figure out if she should step back or stand her ground. Seeing Charlie’s bloody face staring at her, the expression disconcertingly empty, made the decision for her. She jolted, her feet stumbling back as he caged her against the counter that ran along the wall.

“Hullo, pet. Miss me?”

“Charlie you’re bleeding.”

“Mmm, yeah. I think he’s bleeding worse than I am though, we’ve got a few minutes.”

“For what?” Her hands wrapped around his forearms, shoving at them as he lifted her to sit on the counter. “I said no, Charlie, I meant it. I need this job.”

“Say yes, and I’ll take the fall for it, yeah?”

“What?!”

“I’m not getting out anytime soon, what’s one more mark?”

“As sweet as that is,” her retort cut off with a low whine as his fingers dug into her hips. “I can’t, I don’t think-“

“Then stop thinkin’,” his lips crashed against hers, bending her backwards to press her shoulders against the wall paints and brushes spilling. Hands shoved her shirt upwards, stumbling at the awkward angle his palms slammed down in the paint. “Should see the things I’ve painted up in my room.”

“Cell, you live in a cell. And where the hell did you get paint?”

“Took a tube or two didn’t think you’d mind.”

Cool, slick fingers slid over her ribs to cup her breast through her bra, the grip bruisingly rough and it brought a low moan to her throat. The paint was slick as he slid his fingers inside the cup to twist the nipple between his knuckles.

“Don’t, please.” her hips rolled to grind against him, fingers curling along his upper arms with a soft whine. Scratching desperately, she bowed her spine as he slid another paint slick hand along her stomach to push her shirt over her chest. “Michael, stop it!”

His hands froze, face tilting upwards to stare at her even as his lips stopped trailing up her stomach.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Michael Gordon Peterson. Born December 6th, divorced, over two decades in solitary-“

His hand curled around her throat, the paint making his grip slide before finally tightening to cut off her air. Wheezing lightly, she tried to tug his hand loose, eyes locked on his gaze that was a different kind of dark.

"My name is Charles Bronson." squeezing tighter and bringing spots to her vision, "I am Britain's most violent prisoner, say it."

She coughed when he gave her enough room to breathe, her throat raw and aching even after so short a hold. Pushing his hand away, she gave his chest a sharp shove trying to slide off of the counter.

"Born in Luton, parents-"

"You sassy cow." he growled, hand wrapping around her throat again to stop her talking. Just as suddenly he stepped back and eyed her speculatively, his head lifting as his face slowly went blank, "Fine."

She could hear the sound of footsteps pounding towards the door, raised voices echoing down the hallway. Lifting her hand to brush her fingertips over her throat she almost fell over backwards when he leaned forward abruptly to press a kiss to her lips, hands circling her waist to pull her tight against him as he slipped his tongue between her lips. Her hands hovered uncertainly in the air, his teeth catching her lower lip and tugging it softly.

They both almost fell when the first guard slammed into him to try and knock him off balance.

"See you in a month or two pet," he whispered against her lips before releasing her and flinging himself into the brawl the guards presented to him. "You fuckin cunts! Don't you know better!?"


	2. Chapter 2

It took work to get the Warden to not fire her after that, his gaze cold as he looked over the bruises around her throat and the smeared paint. Years of talking her way out of trouble in her youth came in handy as she fought to keep her job.

“We discussed this, and seeing as how you’ve stirred up the inmates-“

“Just the one and he’s confined to solitary! The other boys are just fine.”

“I think it’d be best if you left.” he finished as though she hadn’t spoken at all, his fingers steepling as he rested his lips against them. “I will not have this kind of madness in my prison.”

“You’ve got Michael Peterson, locked in a cell, bloody and stitched up. And you’re trying to tell me you don’t want that kind of madness in your prison. You’ve got madness up to your ears.” She raised an eyebrow when his lips thinned, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “Look, you need this art program, it gives your prison a well roundedness that makes you look good. And I could technically sue you for what happened to me.”

“Not likely.”

“I was assaulted by one of your prisoners, one that you knew for a fact has a history of violence and you didn’t restrain him properly.” her voice was cool, tracing the fading bruises on her throat. “Who would they believe when I've still got these marks around my neck? And considering it's the truth, you'd have to pay a pretty pound to cover this up. Or we can continue as we have been.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“No I’m merely explaining how badly this could look for you.”

“This is blackmail, I won’t have it.”

“Then let’s stop talking about me losing my job, and get back to those supplies I requested last week…”

Charlie’s solitary confinement was over far too quickly, her throat giving a slight twinge when she entered the art room and saw the bald head bowed over the table. Inhaling deeply she walked past him without giving him a single glance, instead moving to strike up a conversation with another of the inmates about the shading of his pictures which he had been working on for weeks.

“It’s better if you use the side of the lead, then smooth over it with the edge of your finger.”

“Oi!”

Her shoulders stiffened but she refused to turn around, though shivers trickled down her spine like cool fingers. Walking past him again, she fought against the urge to jump when he turned, the chains rattling as he stared after her.

It went on for three weeks, avoiding him as often as possible, refusing to do talk with him over anything more than the most mundane things. After one of the hour long art sessions he dug in his heels when the guards arrived to take him back to his cell. Staring up them until they quit shouting, he shuffled in the chains around his ankles to face her.

“What is it, Charlie?” tossing a handful of pencils into the bin, she sighed and crossed her arms over her stomach turning to face him.

“I drew somethin' for you.”

“… That’s nice, I’m sure it’s a piece of work in and of itself.” eyeing him for a moment she held out her hand.

” ‘s not here, it’s in my room.”

Blinking slowly, her gaze shifted to one of the guards with an expression of disbelief. Surely he couldn't be serious.

“I don’t think that’s allowed Charlie.”

“The boys will be there, won’t you, you jolly boys. Make sure I mind my p’s and q’s.” dimples formed on either side of his moustache, eyes crinkling. “I’ve had a month or so to work on it.”

“If you can get permission from the Warden I’ll think about it.”

Two hours later she was still shaking her head, even as she was escorted to his cell. She wasn’t sure how he’d managed to finagle this privilege, and the way he’d stared at her speculatively as he’d given his permission made her all the more curious to know the conversation. When the guards stopped outside the door and stayed there, she stepped into the cell. 

The first thing she saw was colour, lots of it, some of the paint still glistening as he leaned closer to the wall to trail his fingers along the collage.

“Wow,” huffing out a breath she tilted her head to look at the mad assortment, some of which it took her several moments to understand. When he didn’t turn or show any sign that he heard her she stepped closer. “Charlie?”

A soft grunt was all she got in reply, his head angling as he worked on a line that was apparently not doing what he wanted it to. Her hand hesitated on touching his shoulder, hovering for a moment before lightly pressing her fingertips to the rolling muscle.

She wasn’t ready for the way he went still, his head turning slowly stopping shy of actually looking at her. Grunting again he stepped back and stared at the wall for a minute, shaking his head before turning to show her a lopsided grin.

“Well what do you think?” his words were a bit off, a slight slur to them that made her blink slowly. "Well if I couldn't go to class might as well do somethin' here, yeah? I think it looks rather-"

"Rather what?" she asked, watching as he lifted a hand to run his fingers along his nostrils as he sniffed, paint staining his mustache. "Are you, are you alright?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, yeah." 

Watching him shake his head again, she frowned, leaning closer to him to see a slight glazing over his eyes.

"What happened to you, are you sick?"

"Mm mm, made a deal with the Warden," his whole body lifted as when he inhaled through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, blinking rapidly before finally staring at the wall half lidded. "Had to take a bit to get permission. Whatcha think, bit different innit?"

"Oh definitely." she murmured feeling a twinge of guilt at the thought of him taking sedation just so she could see his work.

It took a moment but she realized that the reason the colour stood out was because there was so much dark. Black smears and dark grey making the reds and yellows he was known for using stand out, making it quite the eye catching mosaic. There was a hint of blues and greens, the sky and grass she figured, and small arches all along the wall to signify birds.

"And you've been working on this," she trailed off, head cocking to the side as she stared towards the corner of the room behind the door. Pulling it away from the wall her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the picture. "Charlie?"

"It's you, and birds and well, you as a bird."

"Ah."

"You like it?" his voice was close to her ear, breath ghosting over her cheek. "You remind me of birds."

"What? How?" 

There wasn't any where to go really, the heat of his body beating against her back, leaving her cornered. She twitched when she felt his fingers tangle in her hair, the thick mass of waves and curls catching as he tried to trail his fingers through.

"You go where ever you like, and you've got a nice voice. Heard you humming a few times when you weren't payin' attention to what you were doin'. Would you sing for me?"

"You want me to- What?" startled she started to turn to face him only to find his face inches from her own, the glazed look barely masking the interest in his eyes.

"I promised the Warden I'd behave proper if he'd give me an hour or two alone with you."

Before she had a chance to speak he spun her around and pushed her back against the wall, his hands landing in the wet paint on either side of her head. Staring at him wide eyed, she laid her hands on his chest and fought a shiver as paint seeped through her shirt. That would explain the look the Warden had given her when he'd called her to his office, though to be honest she'd expected it to be a bit more disgusted if this was the case.

"Made me take a couple of sedatives, worried I'd hurt you, or try to make you do something you wouldn't like."

"So he didn't just let me wander up here with the intent of gifting me to you like some slag?"

"Nah, not really," he made a move to lean closer and her head hit the wall as she tried to jerk back. "But I'm sure he knew what I was thinkin'."

"No," even as the word left her lips, his body pressed tight against her, her lower back pressing against the wall making a soft noise that made her lips twitch even as her stomach tightened. "We've talked about this, I'm not going to lose my job over-"

"I ain't no two stroker, pet." his cheek brushed over hers, the end of his mustache tickling as he pressed kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

"Michael, please."

"Stop doin' that. The only one who calls me that is my mum, and that's the last thing I want to be thinkin' 'bout right now."

Her mouth fell open as he nuzzled at her shoulder, hands moving to grip her hips as he ground against her. Fingers tangling in his shirt, she almost bit through her lower lip when he slid her up the wall, legs spreading to accommodate the insistent grind. Shoving at his chest, she tried to push him back, a sharp inhale when his paint slicked hands slid beneath her shirt.

"Michael, you can't-"

He sank his teeth into her shoulder with a low growl that vibrated along her body, making her writhe as her resolve crumbled. Back arching, she tried to remember that this was a horrible idea, that she could lose her job, but his mouth was hot as he mouthed her nipple through her bra, his hands sliding down to shove her skirt up her legs. His fingers curled around the waistband of her underwear, tugging them down her thighs to fall around her feet.

"Say you don't want this and I'll stop." Broad hands smoothed over her thighs, cupping the backs of them to lift her.

"I don't want to lose my job, Michael."

"Hmph. That ain't a no pet." Startled by the lack of slur, her eyes searched his to find the glazed look gone, his mustache twitching as he fought a grin.

"How many sedatives did they give you?"

"Not enough to make me loopy." he blinked slowly, giving his head a subtle shake before grinning at her as he used his grip on her thighs to pull her closer. "Well, everythin's a bit fuzzy 'round the edges but that's alright."

Pinning her against the wall with his hips, he tugged at his belt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft clatter as he pulled at the fastening to his slacks. The paint fumes were making her light headed, the firm press of his body against hers making it hard for her to breathe. A distant part of her was still arguing against it, but it was drowned out by the pounding of her blood in her ears as his hands skimmed over her ribs to cup her breasts.

"Almost forgot."

"Forgot what?" her body jerked when he began to slide into her, legs squeezing his waist, hands slapping against the wall as she tried to brace herself against the unforgiving thrust of his hips.

"Feels good, tha's all. Almost forgot." he grunted, his head falling to rest on her shoulder as he rolled his hips, his breathing deep, each exhale hot on her skin.

She wasn't ready for the sudden shift in pace, her back sliding through the paint as he thrusted faster like he was trying to go through her. Her breath caught in her throat at the suddeness of her release, a choked scream trapped by her teeth when he groaned, each thrust jarring in it's intensity. Raking his chest with her nails, she tried to writhe away as the brutal thrusts began to hurt.

His hands gripped her hips tighter, pulling her into his thrusts, slamming her down as he spilled into her with a soft snarl. Breath hitching, she gulped for air when he leaned back no longer pressing her into the wall with his weight. She almost fell when he let her down, stepping back to pick up her underwear, holding it out to her silently.

"Michael..." she stopped, snatching her underwear from his hand, using the wall to gingerly step into them.

Her whole body ached, the skin on her back itchy from rubbing against the paint. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip against the small sounds that rose in her throat as she pulled her underwear up her legs and over her hips, avoiding the dark gaze that stared down at her.

"Good thing you're quiet, yeah? Them boys might have thought I was trying to kill you or somethin'."

"Ha ha," she muttered, lifting her hands to try and straighten her hair only to find it unmoving with the paint that slicked it. "If I get fired for this Michael, I will make your life hell."

When he didn't respond she looked up at him through her lashes, the curious look on his face leaving her at a loss.

"What?"

"S'pose it's alright if you call me Michael." He sniffed, startling as he looked down belatedly realizing he hadn't tucked himself away. As he did, he eyed her slyly, the corner of his mouth tucking into his cheek as he refastened his pants. "Kinda liked it."


End file.
